


But Spirits From the Other Side of Styx

by Wiona



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Con and Underage referred to, Post Vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiona/pseuds/Wiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something moves inside Nasir, in very centre of his being. It angers him and he would squash it beneath heel if only he could. For it smells too much like fear, tastes too much like obedience, feels too much like defeated acceptance. Reminds too much of past wasted away under fair Roman name.</p><p>Underage and Non-Con are referred to, but not described in a graphic way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Spirits From the Other Side of Styx

**Author's Note:**

> Underage and Non-Con are referred to, but not in a graphic way. Please be aware of it anyway.

Nasir pauses and lets blood coated fingertips flutter hesitantly over top of large wooden dresser. The disarray of shiny baubles – heavy chains and rings of gold, sumptuous jewels sparkling in low light of candles yet burning – spread out over finely carved surface speak of hasty roman hands trying to collect and take with them what is most precious.

Yet the rebellion’s blood drunken cries of victory have long since carried out into hot roman night. Nasir doubts any jewels have travelled far beyond durn of this villa.

There is commotion behind him, out in hall something crashes and splinters. He whirls around, spear raised to deadly purpose. A blood-curdling scream sounds, a woman gazing into death’s eyes. Hysterical sobbing, lewd, amused laughter of men. Scrambling, a hiss, a wet gurgle. Another Roman struck from this world.

Briefly, Nasir sees before inner eye colorful silk of lavish tunic soaking dark and heavy with blood, a sight beheld many a times by now. Yet with lowering guard, he brushes away the thought, not having been more than flutter of moth’s gossamer wings in his mind. In rebellion, Nasir is not known for coldness nor cruelty. But violent, yet deserved fait of those under who they have all suffered so insurmountably has long since failed to stir his heart.

He turns back to dresser. There is something, something that has caught eye. Spilling out of overturned small box. For its simplicity all the more noticeable among all other ostentatious riches.

“Gather in atrium all things of use! Weapons, medicine, clothing for colder months to come! All food supplies must be brought forward to be distributed fairly amongst the people! Keep such for your own and see heavy consequence fall upon you!”

His lover’s voice sounds true and strong through halls of villa. Soft smile lights Nasir’s face. He reaches out again. Hesitates again, hand hovering in air. Roman blood pooling under saturated cloth around his wrist trails down palm and fingers to drip onto top of dresser, filling the carved grooves of a bird taking flight with spread wings. He bites his tongue.

It is with almost obscene detachment that Nasir recalles Tiberius’ memories.

_Tiberius often polishes trinkets and adornments in dominus’ possession, each piece beautifully crafted and selected with discerning eye. When is but child, soul already groaning under suffocating weight of slavery, but young mind and heart not yet stunted and still capable of some measure of innocence, and he finds joy in such task._

_Tiberius’ soft fingers, short and plump with childhood, many a times twirl and twist strings of pearls around own hands, relishing in cool and smooth sensation. Pendant made of clay, formed to resemble an eagle, has as prey large clear crystal dangling from its claws. When held up into light of sun, it lets lights flutter over white marble floor, blue and red and violet._

_Dark eyes, watching merry dance with delight, widen in shock and flood with fear when clay shatters upon floor._

_“Protective talisman, passed down in dominus’ family since his grandfather’s father.” Older slave mutters bitterly while gathering up shards in her skirts.”What will protect **you** now, clumsy Tiberius?”_

Dominus, already then aware of beautiful boy in his household, would not have flawless skin blemished. Yet standing silently and despite all distance he makes effort to put between himself and past, Nasir can still taste Tiberius’ snot and tears on his lips and palms sting and burn with echo of being whipped raw and bloody.

_Festivity in dominus’ villa is roaring ahead, loud into the night. Tiberius’ hair, which dominus would not see cut, falls in intricate braids around skinny shoulders of youth yet half-stuck in childhood. At the end of each such braid, there hangs a small golden ring, weighing dark mass down. It makes soft tinkling noises whenever Tiberius’ moves. A distant part of himself feels a fool for them._

_Yet in past year, he has become so used to most burning degradation and humiliation. To be made up as a girl would be is but poke at wound already too thick with scar tissue to yet be perceived. Dominus likes to show off his beautiful things to most honored guests and Tiberius harbors illusions no longer as to where nights as this will end for him._

_“Pretty, sooo pretty”, the drunken magistrate slurs and lays hand to Tiberius’ throat, pressing thumb under chin to examine face more closely._

_“ **Most** pretty, indeed.” His breath smells of wine and spicy meat._

_“I would purchase him of you!” magistrate declares with wholehearted conviction innate all drunken fools._

_Dominus, himself man of power and standing, and most of all denarii, laughs hoarsely. He leans heavily on silk covered table that carries cups many times emptied, great heaps of coin and a pair of dice made of ivory at its centre._

_“You prove good tastes! And yet I fear you have run out of means to follow lofty words with deed!” Dominus gestures at the much smaller amount of coin scattered in front of the magistrate._

_“A thing easily remedied! We shall make contract-“_

_“You can have him now” dominus interrupts with leering grin and points finger in magistrate’s face, “or you can have him never.”_

_In answer, magistrate raises hand to own neck and rips of round talisman, easily the size of the man’s own palm. In middle, a cluster of stones shining so clear and bright, they can be naught other but diamonds. The crowd assembled to watch the spectacle gasps. Tiberius, having stood mute and swallowing own anxiousness at direction of conversation taken, sees dominus’ eyes widen. Then the man raises cynical eyebrow._

_“Good Accius! What is this? Veiled attempt at insult?”_

_“Insult!” Magistrate Accius sounds flustered._

_“Worth of offering exceeds worth of the boy tenfold and more! Shall all of Rome soon whisper of my dishonor in accepting such a thing?!”_

_Magistrate laughs loudly, slapping fat hand on even fatter belly repeatedly. Bloated flesh jounces and jiggles under pristine white tunic._

_“Very well then! Let us make gamble out of it!”_

_And with his other hand, he grabs for the dice._

_Dominus’ face lightens up with delighted grin. Tiberius, but cattle that is being bartered over, feels heart clench in fear. Of all the miseries of his life, thought of belonging to the fat magistrate, of being forced to leave this villa, only home he has ever known, with all his friends within it, makes bile rise in throat and tears to eyes. Not for the first time, he finds himself praying to gods who have always only spat on him._

Nasir hesitates no longer. With quick fingers, he grasps hold of objects of desire and pulls them free from tangled mess of golden chains and silken ribbons. He turns and leaves the room.

He finds Agron in atrium, standing at far side of the impluvium. Moonlight from overhead reflects on water painted sluggish red in pinkish sparkle. Agron’s feet are planted firmly apart, arms crossed over chest and frown upon his face as he exchanges quick words with Donar.

He notices Nasir approaching from eye’s corner and, with quick clap to shoulder and firm nod, dismisses the other man. Donar’s feet make soft sucking sounds on wet marble floor as he leaves room with hasty pace.

When Agron turns towards him, Nasir can perceive slightest of changes in beloved face. A softening of the lines, an easing of the edges. It is mirrored in his chest by fiery feeling of relief and something painfully seizing, warm and aching. They have fought, and they will greet next dawn together.

“This place has seen carnage wrought.”

Nasir steps around impluvium. The atrium is flooded with blood. Splattered on walls, congealing in heart of what had stood proud roman villa at beginning of night. No longer.

Agron nods and spares barest of glances for mess around him. His eyes return to Nasir.

“Fourteen Romans brought to deserved fucking end.”

Nasir nods. His eyes wander over whole of lover. The man is covered in more blood, smeared on his jaw and gathering at the hollow of his throat, mixing with sweat. Dripping down torso and trailing along edges of various straps of armor. Nasir’s gaze is drawn to place at Agron’s side where such are torn apart, revealing frayed skin and torn flesh. He reaches out, yet Agron catches his hand.

“But scratch barely felt.” He tilts head and raises eyebrows, looking intently at Nasir. “Do not worry.”

Nasir answers not. Agron will be Agron, proclaiming to feel no pain would there be gladius stuck in his spine.

“What is this, then?”

He follows Agron’s gaze down to joined hands and is surprised to find coppery loot from upstairs lying on now upturned palm. He had forgotten.

Agron gingerly picks one of the bands up, inspecting it closer in moonlight.

“Bracelets!”

He casts Nasir an amused look, small smile gracing lips.

Nasir wants to grin and retort with sarcastic comment, yet finds words shriveling on tongue like brittle leaves in sun. Insecurity blooms, and he casts soft questioning smile instead.

Agron answers in stepping closer. His large hand trails up Nasir’s arm, from wrist to elbow and further, smearing blood and warmth in its wake. He grasps Nasir’s upper arm to pull it toward him and lays copper to bronze skin, fastening adornment with clumsy fingers. While second band joins its twin, Nasir watches lovers face with bated breath. Agron is intent on task, with small crease between eyebrows and lips pressed firmly together as big fingers wrestle with fine ribbons.

They do not share much more words, just gentle smiles and quickest kiss before duty calls them back out into chaotic night.

All the time something moves inside Nasir, in very centre of his being. It angers him and he would squash it beneath heel if only he could. For it smells too much like fear, tastes too much like obedience, feels too much like defeated acceptance. Reminds too much of past wasted away under fair Roman name.

Overhead, smoke curls up into night sky, veiling silver of sharp cold stars.  

 

Though darkness lies still as heavy blanket over rolling lands and small cluster of roman villas laying cradled in river’s bend, quite a while has passed since it’s taking. Night has long reached latest hour and progressed onwards, yet rebel’s revelries continue on. There is music and the hum of hundreds of voices, shouting, screaming, roaring with exuberant laughter. Good natured insults and lewd exclamations, moans and cries, all comes together in melody of life at its fullest, freshly watered with blood and wine. And were Nasir to listen closely enough, he were to hear the sound of Gannicus and Donar hollering well known song not far from this small, low-ceilinged room right under roof of villa.

Yet Nasir knows naught but Agron’s heavy weight atop him. The sheets on which he lays are damp with sweat, shifting with each heavy, languid thrust.

The farther south they have moved and with changing seasons, nights have become almost unbearably hot. Now, Nasir, eyes closed in bliss, feels flushed, almost overwhelmed by heat of straining, writhing bodies and hot, panting breaths blooming against side of his neck. Wet lips press against collarbone, slippery coiling tongue licking sweat from graceful curve before moving down and laving hard nipple. Agron’s short hair scratches against underside of his jaw. Nasir slides hand up from where it rested on muscled ass, over smooth skin to gain white-knuckled grasp on heaving shoulder. Other hand remains where it is, pressing, urging, deeper, faster, closer…

Nasir grunts, pleasure pulsing, lips forming around senseless words. Agron raises head and trembling lips find his own in sloppy, breathless kiss. There is almost unbearable gentleness there, in way their noses glide against each other and eyelashes almost mingle. He arches up and presses hot open mouth to Agron’s temple, feeling blood pulse. Agron hums.

To love, Nasir thinks headily, to pursue death again and again in arms of very own heart.

Completion is near. It is in delicious tension in his lower back and desperate straining of Agron’s body, hip’s movements picking up speed and growing jerky. Lover’s balls brush against spread crack of ass with every thrust. Nasir’s eyes roll back.

“Agron…”

His legs are spread wide, knees bent. Agron’s own powerful thighs are pushed against back of his, keeping them in place, and now calloused hand wraps around his knee to guide it up to his chest, opening him up further. Blunt fingers dig almost painfully into the joint. Fiery ache in strained muscles increases and breathy moan escapes Nasir’s lips.

“Now…” he mumbles.

In blur, he finds himself pulled upright. Nasir blinks, concentrates on lover’s face in sparse moon- and firelight spilling through small window in wall at foot of bed. Agron, from beneath lowered eyelids, holds his gaze as he pulls him up until only thick head of cock remains inside. Then, hips snap up, pressing, spreading, filling, and Nasir comes with mute cry, shuddering and clenching. Hands fly up and tangle in Agron’s hair. Mind becomes as endless cloudless sky, failing to perceive anything but the pleasure and each and every point he and Agron touch.

He slumps forward, strength drained from very bones, forehead leaning against lover’s. Breaths mingle. Big, rough hands caress over skin of his hips. Nasir runs tip of tongue over Agron’s lower lip in whisper of touch, blinks eyes open to watch other’s face. Gazes meet. The other man’s green eyes are glassy, longing for release evident in strain around corners of mouth. Still breathless, Nasir laughs softly.

“I would have your torment end.” He whispers.

He grabs onto Agron’s shoulders and lifts himself up, slowly, sucking in breath before sinking down again, taking as much as he can, almost too sensitive now. Coarse pubic hair tickles his ass. Agron’s head rolls back and the man groans deeply.

“Yes…” he rasps, making Nasir’s stomach clench in aftershock of pleasure. Grip tightens on his hips, yet Agron leaves the control to Nasir, taking the pleasure so willingly given. And Nasir takes full advantage of position. He lets appreciating eyes rove over beloved body. Watches exposed expanse of corded neck, bead of sweat trickling down side and adam’s apple bobbing with furious swallowing. Broad chest is heaving, glistening in faint light. Nasir lays one hand over scarred skin there, feels old wound and strong, racing heartbeat against his palm. All the while, he keeps laboring, working hips up and down in steady rhythm, expertly clenching inner muscles. It does not take much.

He feels Agron tense, throbbing inside him. Hand raises to bring Agron’s head forward, their faces barely a breath apart.

“Let me see” he murmurs and lids flutter, their eyes as hooks. To each other, they bare themselves.

When Agron starts coming, the man’s sweaty brow scrunches as if in deep concentration, eyes clenching shut and lips parting. Throaty bellow is followed by short choked gasps as fingers press bruises into Nasir’s skin. Hips press against his ass in small, shallow rolls and under his hands, Agron’s muscles start to relax. He presses his cheek against lovers and feels warmth spreading inside him. It causes goose flesh. A peculiar feeling, this. Always has been, like a stamp, a claim, a reminder of being possessed. The difference lays in how it is received. He sighs in contentment against the shell of Agron’s ear.

They lower themselves back to bed after silent minutes passed trying to regain breath. The sheets are so soft compared to what they are used to, weariness and soreness of battle no longer overshadowed by longing. Body and mind buzz with exhausted warmth and fatigue rests heavy behind Nasir’s eyes. Agron takes time to roughly wipe them down with finely woven woolen sheet, freeing them of the worst of sweat and seed, before tossing the precious thing carelessly to ground.

Now that lusts have been sated and passion satisfied, stifling heat strikes them once more as overbearing. Smells of the celebration, sweat and smoke and roasting meet, noticeable now that their noses are no longer full of only each other’s scents, mix with those of their own sex. They lay apart, all pillows and blankets kicked to the ground, grateful for every smallest breeze finding its way through the window and brushing over flushed skin. Nasir hears Agron breathing and feels gentle fingers carefully stroking damp strands of hair from his face and neck. His mouth twitches into softest smile, and then he falls to realm of Morpheus.

 

Dawn has barely broken, but for faintest of all lights bleeding into dark night and painting far horizon shimmery grey, when Nasir wakes. He knows exactly what has robbed him of much needed sleep. Memories are sharp in his mind, reopening wounds he deems better left forgotten. He lays still, staring at slanted ceiling. Dawn has chased away whatever relief of night’s breeze there has been and air in room seems but a moment away from boiling. It is thick and sluggish. Festive has finally ceased, leaving in its wake the cloying smell of slowly blooming flowers and herbs and the sound of the cicadas singing. But faintest whiff of smoke reminds of night’s bloody chaos.

Nasir feels sticky. They should have set up camp outside where at least four walls could not form what seemed now like giant oven. Yet temptation of true privacy had proven too great. In this moment, Nasir wishes also for night sky’s distraction. In here nothing can ease feeling nesting inside chest, heavy and churning and yet elusive, much like air around him.

Next to him, Agron shifts and grunts in sleep. For all his stoic bravery and savage eagerness in battle, the man seldom finds peace in nights following such, sleeping light and restlessly.

Soon, he jerks awake, groaning in exhaustion and throwing long limps even farther away from himself than they already were.

“Fucking heat. Sun attempts to burn skin even before rising above horizon!”

Despite himself, Nasir must smile at voice scratchy with disgruntlement and sleep. He closes eyes, taking pleasure in imagining appearance of man it comes from. Wild hair the color of wet straw, scruffy beard and stubble covering jaw and lean cheeks. Boyishly slanted nose often seeming so misplaced in such angry face. Big eyes of clear green, blinking slowly into almost darkness. Eyebrows slender as those of a woman. A hundred little details, and Nasir has mapped them all.

“Helios is merciless in quest allotted by fait. He saw his son fall, and now his agony burns forever brighter.”

Nasir knows that Agron does not care much for the Roman gods, except when talking about seeing them lose their throne. Yet there is no derisive snort or bitter comment in response. Instead the backsides of fingers, knuckles’ skin dry and cracked, run down his arm to rest lightly in his upturned palm.

“Yet it is not God of Sun that keeps you awake.”

Agron looks at Nasir and knows truth of his heart. It has always been this way and Nasir finds in himself no desire to keep his pain to himself. He yearns for soothing balm only lover can provide.

“Mind is tired… yet imprisoned by memories of times past.”

Whispered confession grainy with exhaustion is met with silence first, then with the rustle of sheets as Agron turns to face him. Nasir feels gaze upon side of his face, followed by softly spoken request.

“Tell me.”

Nasir opens mouth, he wants to, yet can grasp no strength for it. He has not been able to firmly take hold of off feelings burning inside him. Now, faced with shaping them into words, he finds them to be shame. Doubt. Sorrow. And though he longs to have burden lifted by loving hands, his tongue fails him. This is fear of remembering.

Instead, he turns, intertwining fingers of one hand with Agron’s and reaching out other to stroke along worn leather cords hanging around Agron’s strong neck. The separate threads have become fewer and fewer over past months, tearing in battle and giving way to wetness, dust and heat. Only few remain. He picks at them.

“You never shared story… of how you came by this?”

In Agron’s slow exhale, there is surprise, and maybe confusion, but he gives answer without questioning.

“It belonged to one of the mercenaries dispatched for our heads, after Batiatus fell.”

Agron falls silent and thumb rubbing circles over Nasir’s knuckles ceases motion as potent memories flood the present.

“Only few days had passed… what little of such time stays in mind I do not hold close to heart. The Roman was young, not single hair had taken to growth upon face. Fucking child. Pissed himself even before my blade found home in his guts. … He begged to live.”

In Agron’s eyes, light of fading moon and strengthening dawn mix, reflecting. Nasir fixates on glinting flames.

“Did you grant it?” He knows answer already.

“Cut his throat. And took joy in watching life drain away into dark soil. It brought peace to broken heart. Somewhere, I imagined, he must have had a brother to feel same burning emptiness left behind in place of one so truly loved…”

“…I must have robbed a lot of brothers.”

Last words have ring like unexpected realization, yet are spoken with neither pride nor regret. They sound dry, and dispassionate, pensive at best.

“I took this” Agron tugged at Nasir’s wrist, which’s fingers were still curled around necklace “to remind self that I yet held purpose in this world of piss and shit, if only to bring pain and misery to those deserving of it.”

Hand now lifts to Nasir’s cheek, curving around jaw and caressing cheekbone with tips of fingers. Despite heat, Nasir buries nose in wrist, feels skin tender and chafed from brace, smells sweat and sex and, underneath it all, clean scent of Agron.

“How was I to know fates were not yet done with me?”

Nasir smiles.

“Why ask?”

Smile vanishes. Hesitatingly, fingers unwind from Agron’s, travelling to own opposite arm. Nasir places palm over copper adornments resting there as if branding irons, form of twisted metal heavy on his skin.

“Once… man of high position and old name sought to win me from my dominus in game of dice. As wager, he offered necklace… pendant, far more worth than ten slaves and adding substantially to dominus’ wealth. Every Roman shit would crave such thing for themselves.”

Despite great weeping clump of fear of own words clogging throat, he squeezes out bitter laugh as he remembers treasure. It had been beautiful, indeed, only one struck with blindness could have denied so.

“Dominus won the game. He cheated. Loaded dice. He won all and more. And then he gave to magistrate despite this, if only for one night.”

Agron tenses. Of Nasir’s past, they are both aware, yet seldom speak of. They do not do so in attempt to push away horrid memories, but to put them behind. They do not ignore, they acknowledge, if not in words, then in deeds. In comforting touches and lingering, gentle gazes. In respectfully granted space and privacy when such is needed. Careful hesitance of first intimacies, at beginning, when Nasir was still one half Tiberius were born of love, not coyness.  

Yet bluntly spoken words bring pain and trouble to soul and feed rage inside Agron that Nasir would not see nourished. So he avoids them when he can, for both their sakes, until times are more certain and he knows himself better, what he can give voice to and what he wants to give voice to.

 Now though, this tale falls from his lips as rain from the sky, in a torrent and unstoppable. He must say this, he cannot possibly keep this to himself, lest it foul and shrivel inside him and poison his very being.

 “Dominus did so to keep the man’s favor and to rub failure into his face at same time, I knew him well enough. Before he send me into bedchambers, he took time to fasten won necklace around my neck himself, to parade loss before guests eyes. ‘As if I would ever let you leave’. Such words from dominus’ lips felt like slap in face and greatest blessing at same time. I remember…”

 Remembers sweaty skin of fat tights and tremendous weight of fat body on top small of his back. Burning, invading, deeper, deeper, deeper, until Tiberius is nothing more but frail vessel of skin and bones to be fucked and forgotten at same time. He remembers breathing evenly into pillows, concentrating on floating away as he has taught himself to. Yet this time unforgiving edges of cursed jewelry press deep into his chest, leaving indent and becoming cruel anchor that binds him to mistreated body. He remembers, this time Tiberius cried again.

 “Everything. I remember every moment.”

 Agron need not know.

 Lover’s face is drawn tight in light of morning when Nasir glances up. Sun has begun climb over horizon and light the color of milk and dust falls through the window into their little room. In it, Agron looks as if skull, grayish pallor and skin drawn tight over bones, mouth thin line and eyes blazing. Hate in them turns him into sickly scornful creature. Nasir’s feels sharp pull in heart and he raises fluttering hands to press them over this strange face. Only mouth is left free and lips part to inhale necessary air. Nasir catches next breath from them with his own, moist heat of mouths and bitter taste of regret on tongues. Could Agron read his thoughts, now? Had he relived Tiberius’ memories as if  Nasir himself?

 “You have long forgotten your masks when around me, little man.” Agron whispers into his mouth. “A thousand Romans will suffer for the pain I have just seen in your face.”

 Nasir clenches eyes shut. There was a time when he could shield himself from everyone and everything around him, standing still as an object of endless indifference. He found trust to stop doing so around his heart a long time ago, and now it seems, when it came to Agron, he had forgotten how to.

 His mind races how to rectify this, for of all their sorrows it are their pasts over which they are gaining victory with each day in rebellion, and Nasir would not have them lose the ground they gained.

 “These are but spirit of the past, rotting under hot Roman sun while we live and fight with every breath we take. Do not let them have control over you, as I will not let them leash me any longer.” He whispers the words hastily and softly against Agron’s lips, his hot breaths moistening their chins and noses. His lovers’ are shallow, yet when Agron reaches up and pulls Nasir’s hands from his face, some measure of calm has returned to his searching eyes.

 “Will you not? When they have so burdened you now, brought forward by simple adornment you chose yourself?”

 Nasir raises chin and keeps gaze connected to Agron’s as a large hand pushes into his hair, pulling him even closer. Despite the heat growing unbearable as day begins, they lay with barely a gap between them.

 “It was not thoughts of dominus and deeds that brought pain. I have not forgotten him, and I believe it to be a long time before I can free myself of him completely. Yet I also know him to lay dead in dust… and that he has not taken from me ability to love. And that he lied when he said I was not worth loving.”

 Nasir smiles, and Agron, wild beast from East of the Rhine, kisses his forehead with greater reverence than many priests can bring themselves to feel for their gods. Nasir curls fingers over Agron’s heart and shudders in awe.

 He would finish his story now, so that this would be over, another bone rebroken so that it could finally set right.

“I held necklace in hand after esteemed guest left me to rejoin festive” he starts again and Agron hooks a finger around shell of Nasir’s ear and listens intently. “I remember never in my life being as awestruck as in that moment. Not at its beauty. At the fact that what lay cupped in my palm, small and dead and devoid of any warmth but what it had drawn from my own body was worth more than entirety of me. Held more value than my past, my present and my future. My every thought, dream and hope… they were nothing and it was everything.”

 Silence reigns, and Nasir pulls deep breath for last words. “When I realized this, pain was so great, I was sure I must die. Only few years later, I had accepted it. I held it for the truth. Was no easy thing to shed such believe.”

 The murmur of first voices outside grows into steady rumble of camp awakening. The smell of hot pulp of corn, fruit and sparse spices wafts in the air, commands are shouted over the neighing of horses and already the sounds of steel on steel sound through the small village, the first training sessions of the day having begun. They ought to rise, for they have both duties to attend to, and soon men will come searching for them. Yet they lay motionless but for their soft breathing, still entangled, still sweating, still unwilling to separate. Agron says nothing, and Nasir is glad for that, for he is concentrating on what lays inside him, feels as if he were rippling sea, calming after wild storm.

 Pain is fading, slowly, its heated radius receding until it’s put a pinpoint laying heavy in his chest, where it leaves a deep scar which Nasir knows will rip open again, maybe even soon. He is not fool enough to believe that spirits of his dominus and Tiberius will not haunt him for a long to come, nestling in his darkest pits and mumbling into his ears. Yet he also meant what he said to Agron, and he would not let those who reside on other side of Styx already pull him over with them. They had him at their mercy long enough, now it was Nasir’s turn to prove he could live without them.

 “Agron!! Day has long started and for reasons well beyond my grasp, Spartacus would not start first meeting without you! So move ass!!”

 Nasir snorts as Crixus’ rough, irritated shout carries through window from where he must stand underneath it. World has kept spinning, and now demands that they once again join in her dance.

 Agron jerks and grumbles, slowly disentangling himself from Nasir and rolling onto his back. “How does he have fucking knowledge of where I rest? Does he keep eye on me like on disobedient dog all the time?”

 Nasir smiles and sits up slowly, rolling his shoulders. He wrinkles his nose. “We stink.”

 “As does every other man and woman under fucking sun. There is no time to wash. Crixus is welcome to enjoy my smell in all its ripe glory.” Agron throws Nasir a wide grin over his shoulder as he stumbles through the room and picks up one of sheets thrown to the floor. He wraps it around hips and lets rest of armor lay in heap in corner, only strapping belt with gladius over white cloth. “I presume we will make camp here for some days at least.”

 When he sinks on knees in front of Nasir, who is still sitting on edge of bed, Nasir follows with eyes until he is looking down on beloved face. Agron licks his lips. Words are simple.

 “In my life at least, there is and never shall be anything worth more than you. You eclipse all and everyone. Never take doubt in this.”

 Simple, and yet carry more impact than any fist, fuck or word from dominus has ever had. Nasir knows he will hold them forever close, long after even Agron may be gone from this world. He clenches shaking fingers around edge of bed and gives solemn, steady nod, eyes never leaving those of his lover.

 The corners of Agron’s lips curl in faintest way as he hooks finger under one of bands around Nasir’s upper arm, yet Nasir reaches up to stop him.

 “No. They are only copper bands. I would wear them. I like the way they look,” he grins wearily “picked them for myself after all.”

 Agron hesitates then rises to his feet. “They suit you.” He curls fist under sitting man’s chin. “This villa has bathing rooms. Will you meet me there tonight?”

 “They will be overflowing with rebels.”

 Agron raises challenging eyebrow “Shy?”

 Nasir laughs and pushes other’s hand away.

  _"Agron!!!”_

 "Go fuck yourself, Gaul!!”

 Nasir’s laughter grows louder as he watches Agron hasten out of room.

 

 Shoulders and back burn as even his dark skin submits to midday sun’s merciless glare. He is wet, his muscles aching as he whirls around, adjusting grip on slippery steel of his galdius, slashing it upwards through air. It sings in his ears, and not second later older man before him cries out and let’s his gladius fall onto hot sand. His heart is pounding and feral grin spreads on face as he slams shoulder into torso, seeing his opponent fall.

 The newly freed slave blinks up at him. Nasir offers hand. “Come, you must drink. Sun is enemy easily underestimated.”

They wind their way through training rebels around them, making for barrel of water standing in sparse shadow of small eucalyptus tree. “You hold onto sword as if onto broom. You must grip it with same strength as you would grip onto life.”

 New recruit rubs at wrist. “Your sword strikes true.”

 Nasir smiles and hands the man filled ladle. “As yours will soon.”

 He watches as recruit gulps water down, trails trickling from his chin. He hands ladle to Nasir and reaches out other arm. “I am called Amilcar.”

 Nasir throws ladle back into barrel and wipes back of hand over mouth. Then he clasps Amilcar’s forearm in tight grip.

 “Nasir.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom. If you take the time to commend, I would be grateful if you could tell me if 
> 
> \- its in-character, since that is very important to me and what I always look for in a fic  
> \- its written well language and grammar wise, since I'm not a native speaker.
> 
> Apart from that, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Wiona


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